Starmer’s reshuffle: a power grab that weakens accountability?
Reclaiming No. 10 as the centre of power.
One of the most telling rituals of British politics is the cabinet reshuffle, where a prime minister flexes their muscle, signals intent to colleagues and markets, and rejigs the internal balance of power. Keir Starmer’s latest effort is no different. But far from a mere shuffle of deckchairs, this looks like a calculated bid to drag policymaking away from the Treasury and into the clutches of Downing Street, strengthening the premiership at the expense of parliamentary oversight and collective responsibility.
What stands out here is how this reshuffle accelerates the presidentialisation of the prime minister’s role. Britain’s constitution doesn’t recognise an “Office of the Prime Minister”: it’s a creature of convention, the fulcrum of Cabinet government and answerable to Parliament, but not an official position.
Yet by inventing the post of Chief Secretary to the Prime Minister and handing it to Darren Jones, Starmer has conjured up a new layer of executive clout right inside No 10. This isn’t just tinkering; it’s a constitutional sleight of hand, entrenching a personal power base for the PM and chipping away at the traditions of Cabinet accountability.
What masquerades as efficient management is really a step towards centralised control, echoing the quangocratic creep that hands decisions to unelected insiders rather than elected representatives.
The symbolism is unmissable. Since the 1990s, the Treasury has been the dominant Whitehall department, its grip reinforced by Gordon Brown’s long tenure as chancellor. By moving Jones from the Treasury into No 10, Starmer has made clear that coordination and delivery will sit under his office, not Rachel Reeves’s machine. For a government wrestling with fiscal constraints, the architecture matters as much as the policies.
What masquerades as efficient management is really a step towards centralised control, echoing the quangocratic creep that hands decisions to unelected insiders rather than elected representatives.
This realignment is reinforced by heavyweight economic appointments. Baroness Minouche Shafik, former deputy governor of the Bank of England, becomes Chief Economic Adviser, while Dan York-Smith, a seasoned Treasury figure, is installed as Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister. Together they represent a transfer of economic firepower into Downing Street, designed to make it the hub of fiscal strategy.
That inevitably creates tension. Reeves remains chancellor, but her team has been reshaped beneath her: James Murray steps up as Chief Secretary to the Treasury, while Dan Tomlinson becomes Exchequer Secretary.
Reeves’s autonomy is clipped, the message unmistakable: the big calls will be coordinated with, if not driven by, the Prime Minister’s office.
Beyond economics, Starmer has tightened his communications operation. Tim Allan, a Blair-era spin doctor with a controversial lobbying past, is appointed Executive Director of Communications.
The move has drawn unease within Labour ranks, but for Starmer the appeal is discipline. Allan’s experience in crisis management is intended to sharpen a government often accused of letting its narrative drift. Steph Driver remains Director of Communications, ensuring continuity alongside this harder-edged approach.
Policy roles have been adjusted too. Vidhya Alakeson becomes Deputy Chief of Staff, bringing social policy expertise to the centre. Louise Casey will advise on social care reform. Meanwhile, long-standing advisers such as James Lyons, Liz Lloyd and Olaf Henricson-Bell depart or move elsewhere. This is not a wholesale purge but a pruning, aimed at tightening a team Starmer describes as moving into its “second phase.”
That framing is important. Phase one was about consolidation after Labour’s election win and laying legislative foundations. Phase two is about delivery: ensuring Whitehall can move quickly, markets remain calm, and voters see results. The new structure of No 10 is less about personalities than about design: it seeks to overcome the structural drag of a Treasury-dominated state by placing political strategy, economic planning, and communications under one roof.
Markets, however, are uneasy. Bond yields rose after the announcement, reflecting investor nerves at what looks like politicisation of economic management. Stability is a currency in itself, and any suggestion that the Treasury’s independence is eroding is swiftly priced as risk. Starmer is gambling that by embedding credible figures like Shafik inside No 10, he can calm doubts. It certainly is a gamble, especially with a £20 billion fiscal gap looming in the autumn Budget.
Labour insiders also worry about centralisation. Some MPs see the churn in Starmer’s inner circle as a sign of instability, and question whether Cabinet is being reduced to executors rather than shapers of policy. Yet the counter-argument is simple: governments cannot afford drift in their early years. Starmer is determined to avoid the fate of past administrations that lost momentum after their first budgets.
Historically, the attempt to weaken Treasury dominance has precedent.
Harold Wilson’s Department for Economic Affairs in the 1960s and Tony Blair’s policy delivery units in the 2000s both sought to rebalance power. Both ultimately failed. The lesson is that personalities matter as much as institutions. Unless the prime minister himself drives the agenda, bureaucratic reforms alone rarely succeed. Starmer’s reshuffle is therefore both a statement of intent and a test of whether he can translate structures into results.
Ultimately, the reshuffle shows a government aware of the scale of its task. Economic credibility, political discipline, and delivery capacity are the three currencies of power in Britain today. Starmer has sought to strengthen all three by redesigning the machinery of No 10, binding the Treasury more tightly to his office, and sharpening his communications operation.
Whether this recalibration works will be judged in the months ahead: when Reeves delivers her Budget and when voters begin to feel, or fail to feel, the effects of Labour’s programme. For now, the reshuffle stands as a clear declaration. Downing Street, not the Treasury, is where power resides.